0:11
Quitting Drinking for Attention Leads Man to Relapse for Attention
SANTA FE, N.M. — Local man Jacob Wilmer recently gave up drinking for attention, only to relapse for even more attention, confirmed sources.
“I’m often prone to little japes when I’m not getting the attention I feel I deserve,” said Wilmer. “Like when I bought a senior dog so I could have brownie points for adopting it and then sympathy while I watched it die. Or my ambiguous illness that no one can figure out and the doctors don’t think is there. The one that makes me incredibly sick when my friends get married. I’m a japer. It’s what I do. This is just another classic Jacob jape. And let’s face it, straight-edge people are already super annoying about it, so getting on the wagon was a natural idea. Falling off again was just a perk.”
Still, not everyone has been so enthused about this latest ploy for attention.
“Quitting drinking is one of the best decisions you can make for your health,” said wife Nadia Wilmer. “So when Jay told me that’s what he was doing for his resolution this year, I was thrilled. Then I realized he was only saying it so all our friends could hear. Cut to five months later and nobody’s asking him why he only orders zero-proof IPAs and suddenly he becomes Mr. ‘I’m Gonna Down Three Mai Tai’s And Get Behind the Wheel of My Car.’ I suppose we’re just lucky that family settled out of court.”
Concerned friends and family gathered for an intervention at the Wilmer family home only to discover this too had been a booby-trap for their sympathy.
“Jacob was deeply disruptive and disrespectful all the way through his intervention,” said long-time friend Adrian Gomez. “Blurting out obscenities whenever he got the chance and accusing us all of being hypocrites and enablers. But you could also tell he wanted us to drag out the letter reading as long as possible. It was fun for him. And honestly, I kind of enjoyed it too.”
At press time, Jacob Wilmer was reportedly attending his first AA meeting in the hopes that he could become one of those guys in the program that constantly says shit like, “It works if you work it” and “Meeting Makers Make It.”
The post Quitting Drinking for Attention Leads Man to Relapse for Attention appeared first on HARDTIMES.
2:43
Nation Decides Baseball Too Fast Now
NEW YORK—Just a few years after Major League Baseball introduced sweeping pace-of-play reforms intended to make the sport more compelling, a stressed-out nation confirmed Thursday that baseball games had now become much too fast. “Jesus Christ, everything’s happening so fast I can’t even keep track of it—let us catch our breath!” Reds fan Aaron Cartwright said as he scrambled to down a beer and a hot dog during a recent home game in his native Cincinnati, echoing a belief shared by millions of Americans that the pitch clock had transformed his experience from leisurely afternoon-long day-drinking sessions into “frantic, headache-inducing sprints” without any of the dead time or sense of listlessness that once made baseball great. “If I wanted fast-paced, nonstop action, I’d just watch hockey or something. That’s not what baseball’s for. How are you supposed to attract a new generation of fans if kids no longer have four-hour stretches to just sit there and soak up the whole gist of the sport? This shit is un-American!” In response to the growing backlash, MLB commissioner Rob Manfred released a statement reminding fans that while games are faster now, there’s as little happening in them as ever.
The post Nation Decides Baseball Too Fast Now appeared first on The Onion.
4:14
Grandma Aired Out In Yard
ZANESVILLE, OH—Noting that her stink had begun clinging to furniture, clothes, and anyone who hugged her for more than a couple of seconds, family members of local grandmother Phyllis Hargrave confirmed Thursday that they had set the 89-year-old on a lawn chair in the yard to air her out. “Yeah, Granny was starting to reek, so we’re hoping a few hours in the breeze might make her a little more bearable to be around,” said granddaughter Ashley Hargrave, who added that the elderly woman’s twice-a-week showers were just no longer enough to tamp down the combined odor of her beauty products, medicinal ointments, and natural bodily stench, necessitating that she be moved outdoors for a while so the family could Febreze her favorite chair and wash the funk out of her bedding. “We’ve got all the windows open, scented candles burning, but we still keep getting whiffs of her. Sadly, our grandma’s just at that age where she’s starting to turn rancid,” she continued. “The stagnant odor hits you right when you walk in the house. Pretty gross.” At press time, the family had reportedly determined that Phyllis was still too pungent to reintroduce into the home and opted to leave her outside overnight.
The post Grandma Aired Out In Yard appeared first on The Onion.
5:42
Emma Stone Finally Quits Waiting Tables
Emma Stone finally handed in her name tag after more than a decade of balancing Oscar buzz with the daily grind of a family‑run Italian joint. The irony is that the same place that served her coffee for years now gets to watch her walk out with a résumé that actually lists a Best Actress trophy.
She told reporters she’s nervous, because apparently the guarantee that comes with a silver screen career is still a myth. The encouragement she heard about a recent Yorgos Lanthimos film was apparently enough to convince her that two weeks’ notice would be the last time she ever had to remember a table number.
The owners, Ralph and Mary Lowery, had already cut her down to part‑time after her second Oscar, so the transition feels less like a dramatic exit and more like a scheduled shift change. Stone admitted she’ll miss the regulars, but she’s also comforted by the fact that if acting flops, she can always fall back on the art of refilling water glasses.
In short, the actress is swapping a tip jar for a script, and the only thing that stays the same is the habit of showing up early.
7:00
Travis Kelce Reserves Seat At Reception For SpongeBob Just In Case
NEW YORK—Fastening the paper sign to a chair “just in case,” Kansas City Chiefs tight end Travis Kelce reportedly reserved a seat at his wedding reception Monday for SpongeBob. “I know I shouldn’t get my hopes up and that Mr. SquarePants is a really busy guy, but man, it would be cool as hell if he did show up,” said the 36-year-old groom, who told reporters he had been doing double takes all day every time he saw a short guy in a tie out of the corner of his eye. “He doesn’t even need to bring a present, he can just give me a high-five and give an epic toast about jellyfishing. It’s a bit of a long shot, I know, but I’ve been throwing invitations into the ocean since last fall, so he’s had plenty of time to get the time off approved by Mr. Krabs.” At press time, Taylor Swift was reportedly expressing concern after noticing Kelce had moved the chair reserved for SpongeBob right between theirs at the head table.
The post Travis Kelce Reserves Seat At Reception For SpongeBob Just In Case appeared first on The Onion.
8:15
Stars Share Their Plans For The Summer
Millions of Americans will embark on summer vacations this year. Reporters for The Onion asked stars to share their own warm weather plans.
Explore the list in detail
Sabrina Carpenter
“I have a big stack of books that I’m excited to sit on so I can safely drive.”
Ariana Grande
“I’m going to a spa in Switzerland where they kill you.”
Ina Garten
“I say I’ll do this every summer, but this time I actually mean it: I’m going to cast out the ghost that’s living in my fridge.”
MrBeast
“Evading the authorities.”
Simu Liu
“Laying out all my clothes for the fall.”
Russell Brand
“Whatever I do, I’ll deny it’s sex tourism.”
Michael B. Jordan
“Coconuts, pineapples, and little wedges of lime—yeah, it’s safe to say I’ll be spending a lot of time in the produce section.”
Sydney Sweeney
“I’m going to politicize Popsicles.”
Chappell Roan
“PR damage control for something that hasn’t happened yet.”
Jacob Elordi
“I’ll be attending NASA space camp with several of my close friends.”
Noah Wyle
“Filming our upcoming The Pitt: Aloha Means Work Family Hawaiian summer special.”
Selena Gomez
“My plans for the summer will have no impact on you whatsoever. I urge you to do a great deal of soul-searching until you understand why knowing more about my personal life and hobbies would satisfy you in any way.”
Andy Dick
“Waking up in a sack in the ocean.”
Jack Harlow
“I will be defending my thesis at Howard University.”
Tom Hanks
“Isolate in my remote bunker so Jamie Foxx can’t get me.”
9:58
Only 11 Hours From The Beach
With this practically coastal retreat, breathtaking ocean breezes and the soothing sound of waves are only a day-long car ride and a few state lines away, depending on traffic.
Reference #78339
The post Only 11 Hours From The Beach appeared first on The Onion.
10:20
The Proper Level of Enthusiasm for a Parent During Camp Dropoff
Upon arriving at the bus stop, your sigh should be that of the wistful and forlorn, not like a convert stumbling upon God’s holy grille.
When the curious ask your dear camper’s length of stay, “Eight weeks!” must glide out like a person accepting the growing-out of a bad haircut, not erupt from you like a veteran proctologist embarking on a sabbatical following a “particularly rhoid-y” quarter.
Should your child wonder your plans for their room, do not blurt out “Keep it clean for once, slob!” or “Find a boarder to help recoup that private school tuition.” A simple, “Might replace that one lamp” will suffice.
When that overly sentimental mom says she “Can’t believe it’s been a year,” refrain from inserting an ill-advised (if perfectly timed) “only” between her “it’s” and “been.”
The performance of guilt should never turn competitive. That mom in the quirky hat just won a Tony, that dad over there is hiding his phone behind that duffel because he’s secretly embezzling widows, and the lady spraying sunblock on participants, both willing and annoyed, is a lapsed Catholic with a Jewish mother-in-law. You will not win.
No open bragging about your planned resort vacation. Half of these families are substantially richer, and their own destinations considerably more posh. Smug judgments will only make “your kid” feel inferior.
While insisting camp is a win-win for everybody, make sure there is more on the parental side of your ledger than “temporary custody of my own thoughts” and “breakfast nudity.”
When that mom, famous for her bake sale lemon squares but infamous for her many rumored affairs, moans, “Don’t know what I’ll do without my babies,” do not retort, “Probably that dad over there in the ugly madras shorts, Sasha.” Instead, say, “So hard!” Though salaciously, with a wink.
“See ya at Visiting Day” is to be said enthusiastically. Canceling that daylong wine tasting you errantly scheduled on Visiting Day must be done covertly.
Remind your child to write. But not, like, a book.
When you see a first-time camper crying hysterically, do pout sympathetically at the kid’s parents. Though not in a sexual way—you’re not Sasha.
If your own child appears nervous, “Oh sweetie, Dad and I have plenty of time to make our brunch rez” is not as consoling as you might think.
When you say, “I will miss you so much,” do not cite the exceptions to this longing. For there are some line items within your bullshit budget that also need a break.
Smile, knowing you have provided the skills for a summer of independence. Grimace, knowing the kid just asked, “Wait, what day is the Fourth of July again?”
Wave until the bus turns the first corner.
Margaritas immediately after the bus escapes your view? An obvious faux pas. A nice light beer is both less likely to spur a nap and less optically festive.
Drive away in silence, finally free of that one song your child has overplayed all spring. Resist the urge to play it yourself. Then give in and play it anyway, but do so with a mock in your voice. And a lump in your throat.
“Hey Siri: Remind me to schedule the sweet release of remembering who the hell I was in my twenties. Also, my colonoscopy.”
Worry your child’s already missing you. Remember that the haul of candy and squishies you provided for the bus ride is more morally questionable than Sasha. Worry that your child might never miss you again.
14:12
Reviews of New Food: Bush’s Rocket Pop Flavored Baked Beans
America.
A country known for its natural beauty, rugged individualism, and unhinged portion sizes.
In celebration of the States’ 250th birthday, Bush’s Beans dug deep within their bean-well to create the ultimate patriotic (pardon my French) accouterments: Rocket Pop Flavored Baked Beans.
Of course, any God-fearing American knows there’s nothing more beloved in this country than a child’s sweet treat named after a weapon. Summer after summer, frozen red, white, and blue popsicle bombs are dropped directly into adolescent mouths. And our nostalgia remains, even after Americans reach an age when they start wondering whether they really should have dessert, considering they just consumed four slices of plain white bread alongside their potato salad and barbecued meats.
But in honor of the semiquincentennial, Bush’s bravely posed an important question: What if a saccharine, icy dessert was also beans?
Eagle screech!
Is there anything more American than taking baked beans, the national food of our former imperial rulers, and creating an unholy, twisted version with an insidious, cloying aura you can’t quite put your finger on?
Obviously not. Our forefathers knew that the British were only ever half-right. That’s why we have our own standard system of measurement, but still only size things up by how many football fields long they are. It’s why we adopted a democratic system of government, but made it impossible for a third party to ever win. It’s why we have a head of state, but they’re not allowed to be a woman.
Bush’s describes their inventive concoction as an “explosion of cherry, lime, and blue raspberry flavors.” And like any good red-blooded American food product, none of those actual fruits appear in the ingredients list. Instead, they’re grouped under the mysterious moniker “natural flavor.” And after all, what is more natural than a blue raspberry?
Upon opening the can, you’re immediately hit with an odor that’s somehow both putrid and medicinal, uniquely representative of the American healthcare system. The smell of artificial cherry flavoring (despite its “natural” characterization) overpowers everything around it. For a moment, it feels like these beans might contain the power of the American cure-all liquid NyQuil Cold & Flu. But then you recall that you’ve simply opened a can of beans, and that 250mg of sodium per serving is probably more likely to heal your electrolyte deficiency than a lingering cough.
As with any American side dish, the beans require little effort and only need to be warmed. Of course, there’s always the microwave, but for a more upscale experience, you can heat them up on the stove. As the beans simmer in a small pot, their aroma becomes more ominously pungent.
Finally, after eight or so minutes, the beans are ready. And as you dip your spoon in, anticipating a hit of pure stars-and-stripes Americana, you quickly discover that, while sweet, the beans taste nothing like rocket pop. Instead, they taste like regular baked beans that got left out too long next to a fruity Glade Plug-in.
There is no flavor of cherry, lime, or the elusive blue raspberry. There is only bean sauce, bean chemicals, and beans.
In true American fashion, you will gaslight yourself into thinking the flavor is good. Clearly, it wasn’t good, but maybe you misinterpreted its nuance? You’ll go back for another spoonful, and then another, and then one of just the brown bean fluid, because surely that isn’t actually how they taste, right? (It is.)
Even when you’ve decided that you’ve had enough, the experience isn’t over. In fact, it’s just beginning. Bush’s has created a lingering finish, so you’ll still taste the beans late into the evening. Yes, past the beer pong, the sparklers, and the mosquito bites. The flavor will provide unrelenting company long after the rockets have lost their red glare. You may even experience a bean-flavored belch as you watch a firework show from a flimsy lawn chair and wonder if they’re all going to look like sea anemones, or if the fireworks guys have anything cool planned.
But you know what? That’s the good ol’ US of A at its heart, baby. Sickeningly sweet, but honest to a fault.
What you see is what you get, even if what you see is a lot of incredibly wealthy guys getting really into cryptocurrency. But there are beans in there, too. Underneath it all, there’s some fiber, too, which is supposed to be good for your heart.
The United States is full of hope—a never-ending aftertaste you just can’t quite seem to shake. The type of flavor you keep eating more of, thinking maybe, just maybe, the next time around it’ll be a little bit better.
Happy birthday, America.
19:29
Even Harsher Feedback Coming From Noise Artist’s Dad
The set was already a wall of grinding metal, a microwave being dragged down stairs, when a new “track” slipped in from the back: the artist’s dad, microphone in hand, launched a thirty‑minute tirade of career advice and personal insults. He called his son a talentless burnout, reminded everyone that his brother’s plumbing company was still hiring, and wondered why a 38‑year‑old would choose “living like this” over a “real job.” The audience, already braced for sonic assault, suddenly got a live commentary on conventional success.
Trevor Hale, oblivious to the interjection, kept smiling and talked about “psychic abrasion” and “collapse” as if the dad’s monologue were part of the composition. He praised the crowd’s “intense silence” and said the room was “absorbing the emotional architecture” of his work, never realizing the extra layer was a family feud.
Critics noted the irony: noise music aims to discomfort, yet the pure, unfiltered disapproval from a parent might be the most effective way to achieve it. Fans are already wondering whether the dad will release a solo “feedback” album.
